


of knowing

by overtureenvelops



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 12:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3209618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overtureenvelops/pseuds/overtureenvelops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"The war’s over, Peg. Don’t make me sit here every night wondering if you’ll make it home, okay?"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	of knowing

She's become used to the way Peggy works, knows how she ticks, what gets under her skin, the way her chest rises and falls steadily as she sleeps even when her unconsciousness is filled with terror.

Angie knows her, completely, whether Peggy thinks so or not. The waitress is nothing if not a damn fine observer, and she’s finely attuned to every movement, every emotion, every waver of the other woman’s voice. She’s become fluent in the language of Peggy Carter, can read it and speak it as if natively, studying it every day as if it were a religion.

Peggy is capable of anything, she knows. She could save the world— _is_ saving the world, putting her life on the line every day without a second thought, and the more Angie thinks about it the more her stomach tangles in knots.

She’s there every night when Peggy comes home with bruises, scrapes, cuts, bloody and exhausted from taking the world on her shoulders. Angie can tell from the way she sits up in the morning, trying to play off the exhaustion when she kisses her good morning, that Peggy is tired in a way that even a thousand hours of sleep can’t fix.

Angie can’t help but worry.

"The war’s over, Peg," she says one morning, bare underneath the sheets while Peggy gets dressed.

Peggy zips up her skirt, pondering the statement in confusion. “Where are you going with this, love?”

"Just don’t," Angie starts, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "Don’t make me sit here every night wondering if you’ll make it home, okay?"

Peggy looks to her as if looking at an animal that could bolt any second, worrying a bright red lip between her teeth. Angie knows Peggy could never stop what she does, knows it gives her life, knows it’s unfair to ask her to stop (as if she could), and she’s not, really. She just wants Peggy to be safe, wants her to know she can’t sleep if she’s not beside her, wants her to know that she’d do anything for her.

Wants her to know that she loves her, wholly. Fully.

In her heart, Angie knows the feeling is mutual. That Peggy, although quieter in her affections, feels the same way for her. That she speaks her love by threatening rude men at the automat, by lingering in bed every morning with fingers running through her hair, by whispering meaningful words into the dark every night when she thinks the waitress is asleep. Angie understands this language now, thrives on its quiet subtlety. She's in love with the way that Peggy loves her.

"I’ll do my best, Angie," Peggy smiles too wide and presses a lingering kiss to Angie's cheek before she grabs her blazer and heads for the door.

Angie knows this an empty promise. Kind of like the promises of pie after work when they both knows the agent will be out with Jarvis until all hours. She knows that Peggy could never truly promise such a thing.

She's used to it by now, though. Used to leaving the window cracked for when Peggy makes her early morning returns, used to the gauze and antiseptic that’s taken residence in their bedside drawer, used to shooting Jarvis a pleading look every time he has to stitch the agent up after a particularly rough night.

She and the fancy man have taken up a quiet understanding. A mutual affection for Peggy that, although rooted differently, fuels the need to protect the woman that doesn’t believe she needs protecting.

"Love ya, English," Angie calls quietly to the other woman. She hears Peggy’s movements still as she clears her throat.

"I’ll see you tonight, darling," and the door opens and closes with a controlled click.

By now, Angie’s used to declarations of love that only take place in the dark. Thrives on them, if she’s being honest. She’s decided she doesn’t need a dozen roses, a date every other night, even an honest to god “I love you” when the sun is up.

No, she just needs Peggy to come home in one piece, safe and alive. Needs her to climb in that window at 2am like she’s got no other place to be than back in the other woman’s arms. Needs her to feel like healing only comes from her embrace.

Angie just needs Peggy to live for her.


End file.
